The Opera Ghost
by Jane Dudley
Summary: Just how much DOES Madame Giry know? PLENTY! An account of events prior to the storyline of The Phantom of the Opera (ALW version).
1. Rehearsal

"Mademoiselle Robillard! What are you doing?"

The sharp exclamation snapped Claire back to her senses. She looked around to see Mademoiselle Gaudet scowling sternly at her as the rest of the ballet girls fought to stifle their laughter. Claire could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as her face turned crimson.

"If the steps are too difficult for you, I can find a place for you in the chorus," Mademoiselle Gaudet scolded. "I'm sure Virginie would be more than happy to dance the featured role."

Claire looked down at the floor. "No, Mademoiselle," she said quietly. "I'm sorry…I'll get it right."

"See that you do," the ballet mistress said. "We open in three weeks. All right, then. Back to your starting positions, everyone."

Several of the girls shot Claire evil glances as they passed her. She couldn't blame them, really. They'd been rehearsing all morning and they were all tired. Now they would have to go through the whole number again before the lunch break – because of her. She felt like crying, but she knew that it would only make Mademoiselle Gaudet angrier. The old woman had little patience with what she called the emotional sentimentality of silly girls.

Claire took a deep breath and bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. She looked over at Sophie, her closest friend, who smiled sympathetically at her. Not everyone hated her, at least! She got into place and waited for the orchestra to begin.


	2. In the Vaults

When Claire reached the lagoon, Erik was waiting for her. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten about me," he said sullenly.

She sighed and shook her head in exasperation. She had been coming to see him for two years now, ever since he came to live at the opera house, and yet he still didn't trust her fully. "No," she said crossly. "I didn't forget." Her tone softened as she continued. "Mademoiselle Gaudet kept us in rehearsal late."

"That woman is a witch," Erik said. "Someone should do something about her."

Claire wasn't sure what he meant by it, but something in his tone of voice send a shiver through her. "She just wants to make sure that we live up to the reputation of the Opera Populaire ballet chorus," she explained. She opened the sack that she brought and took out half of a brioche and a piece of cheese. She handed them to the boy. "It's not much," she apologized.

He took the food from her. "Thank you, Claire," he said. He put the bread and cheese in the basket in his little boat. She could hear him rummaging around in the boat, and she wondered what he was up to. "Close your eyes," he said at last. "I have a surprise for you."

"Erik…" she protested. But she knew that it was pointless to argue with him. Somehow, he always managed to talk her into whatever it was that he wanted. She closed her eyes obediently.

She heard the sound of a piece of heavy paper being unrolled. He had persuaded her to bring him some drawing paper and a charcoal pencil…had he drawn her a picture? "You can open your eyes now."

She opened her eyes to see a beautiful rendering of her own face in charcoal. The detail was exquisite. "You drew this?" she asked, breathless. "It's wonderful!"

Erik had a huge smile peeking out from under his mask. "I'm glad you like it, Claire. I made it for you." He handed the drawing to her.

"Oh Erik," she said quietly. "It's beautiful, but I can't take it. What would I do with it? If anyone saw it, they would certainly ask questions…"

The disappointment in his eyes was almost more than she could bear. He knew she was right, though. If his existence were discovered, it would mean death for him, and maybe for her as well. He was, after all, still a wanted murderer, and she had helped him escape. No, the risk was too great. He took the drawing back from her and said, "I will just have to keep it myself."


	3. Opening Night

"You were wonderful!" Sophie gushed after the ballet on opening night. Claire smiled. Her first dance solo had gone well. She had executed the steps perfectly and with incredible grace. She was pleased with her performance.

Even Mademoiselle Gaudet seemed satisfied. "Well done, Claire," she said. "Well done indeed." From the old ballet mistress, this was high praise.

During the curtain call, the maestro gestured for Claire to step out of the chorus to take an extra bow. The thunder of applause from the audience was intoxicating. She felt so loved, so appreciated. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. _This moment is worth all the long rehearsals and aching feet_, she thought happily as she moved back to the wings.

Just then she thought of Erik. She wished that he could have seen her dance. She hadn't told him that she would be dancing the featured role. She knew that it would only underscore that part of her life "up above" that she could not share with the boy. It was better not to even mention such things.

Sophie ran breathlessly into the ballet chorus dressing room. "Quick Claire!" she bubbled. "We've got to get changed for supper!"

Claire looked puzzled. "What's the hurry?" she asked in mock concern. "Will Jacques run out of bread and cheese?" The old cook seemed overly fond of serving his "light supper" menu. Only two or three nights a week did they get a hot meal; the rest of the time it was bread, cheese, and once in a while cold meat.

Sophie rolled her eyes in exasperation. "No silly!" she cried. "We are going out to supper." The twinkle in the girl's eyes told Claire that one of their dining companions would be a certain dashing young trumpet player. She wished that Sophie and Michel would publicly announce their engagement soon so she didn't have to keep tagging along with them when they went out.

"Who is he dragging along with him this time?" Claire asked. She hoped that Michel would be bringing one of his more interesting friends. The last time they had to suffer through the tiresome ramblings of a thoroughly boring timpanist.

Sophie shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think it's a new fellow from the string section."

Claire sighed. _Probably another self-important violinist_, she mused. Well, he couldn't be as painfully dull as the last one.


	4. Introductions

The two men were waiting for the girls when they got to the stage door. Claire didn't recognize the young man with Michel. He looked to be about the same age as Michel, but not quite as tall. His light brown hair was cut short and combed back away from his face, and he had a neatly-trimmed mustache and goatee. Both men bowed slightly as the girls approached them.

"Good evening, ladies," Michel said broadly. "I would like to introduce to you Andre Giry, our new cellist. Andre, this is Mademoiselle Sophie Leblanc and Mademoiselle Claire Robillard."

"How do you do, Mademoiselle Leblanc," Andre said to Sophie. "Michel has told me a great deal about you."

Sophie blushed and smiled. "I am pleased to meet you, monsieur," she replied.

Andre turned to Claire. "Ah, Mademoiselle Robillard," he said smiling. "You danced the featured role in the ballet this evening." His dark eyes seemed to dance as he looked at her.

Now it was Claire's turn to blush. "Yes…yes…that was me," she stammered.

He grinned mischievously. "You nearly cost me my job, mademoiselle," he joked.

"Monsieur?" she said, puzzled.

"Well, I was so entranced by your gracefulness that I nearly missed my entrance!" He and Michel laughed heartily. "When I found out that Michel here was attached to your dear friend Mademoiselle Leblanc, I begged him to introduce me to you."

Claire was unaccustomed to having such a fuss made over her, and it embarrassed her terribly. Sophie sensed her friend's discomfort. "Are we going to supper or not?" she said. "Mademoiselle Gaudet will have our heads if we aren't in by ten o'clock."

Michel held out his arm to Sophie. "Yes, yes," he said chuckling. "We mustn't upset the old hag!" Sophie smacked him playfully on his outstretched elbow before slipping her hand into the crook.

"Mademoiselle Robillard?" Andre offered his arm to Claire, and the four of them walked the two blocks to the café.


	5. A Quiet Supper

When they reached the café, several of the crew members and musicians were already there. The little bistro was very popular with the employees of the opera. It wasn't a fancy restaurant, but the food and wine were quite satisfactory and the prices were reasonable. Michel led the group back to his usual corner table.

Once they were all seated, Michel ordered a bottle of red wine. "I will be buying supper tonight," he offered. "Please feel free to order whatever you like."

Claire scanned the menu. There were so many choices, she had difficulty making up her mind. When the garçon returned to take their order, she was still debating between the salmon and the beef steak. As the others finished ordering, another item caught her attention. "I'll have the roast chicken!" she said matter-of-factly.

The waiter raised an eyebrow and sniffed. "The roast chicken…very good, mademoiselle."

When she looked up, Claire saw Sophie staring at her wide-eyed. Michel and Andre were grinning.

"What's so funny?" she asked indignantly.

Andre shook his head. "Nothing. I like a girl with a healthy appetite." He and the others laughed.

When their dinners were brought out, she understood the cause of their amusement. The garçon placed a platter in front of her with an entire roasted chicken on it. She had been in such a hurry to order, she hadn't read the whole description of the family-sized entrée.

"I…I…didn't realize it was a _whole _chicken…"she struggled to explain.

"I thought you were just punishing me for making you come to dinner with us," Michel retorted. "I should have made it clear that I was buying each person one dinner only!"

Claire felt her cheeks burning hotly. This was exactly the reason that she preferred to stay at the opera house. She was self-conscious about her lack of refined manners, and worried that she would say or do something to embarrass herself. She sincerely wished the floor would just open up and swallow her.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Robillard," Andre said, realizing how embarrassed she was. "We shouldn't be laughing at your expense." He graciously steered the conversation away from her faux pas and onto the latest gossip of the orchestra.

After she had eaten as much of the chicken as she could, she asked, "Do you think it would be all right if I took the rest of the chicken with me?" She wasn't sure if such things were done in polite society, but she thought it a shame for all that meat to go to waste.

Michel nodded. "I don't see why not. I'll ask the garçon to bring you a clean napkin."

She carefully wrapped up the leftover chicken in the napkin and stuck it into her handbag. Erik would have a decent supper tonight too!


	6. Erik's Gift

Claire watched as Erik hungrily devoured the chicken. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his dinner; after all, it was a nice change from the bread and cheese Claire was usually able to smuggle to him. When he'd finished the last of it, he wiped his greasy hands on the napkin.

"Was it good?" Claire laughed.

Erik grinned. "It was delicious."

She smiled, glad to have been able to bring him something special. She felt sorry for him, living alone in the cellar of the opera house at such a young age. She shuddered to think of what would have become of him if she had not hidden him there. He would have most likely been put to death, or possibly locked away in an asylum. No, however lonely his existence here might be, it was better than the alternative.

They had never talked about his past. She knew nothing of his life before the day she met him, but she often wondered how he came to be part of the traveling band of gypsies, how he had become the "Devil's Child." She had seen a glimpse of his life with the gypsies. She knew he was beaten, starved, and forced to live in a filthy cage, treated like an animal.

She took a good look at him. He was no longer the terrified, abused boy she had met two years ago. He was becoming a young man. She guessed him to be about fourteen years old. Although he kept the right side of his face covered with a leather mask to hide his deformity, the left side of his face showed fine masculine features emerging. He had thick, wavy, dark hair, a long, thin face with a strong nose and chin, and full lips. But by far his most striking feature was his piercing blue-green eyes. When he looked at Claire, she felt as if he were looking into her very soul.

"Claire?" Erik's voice suddenly broke through her mental rambling. "What are you thinking about?"

She shook her head. "Oh, nothing," she lied. She smiled again at him. "So, do you have any surprises for me today?"

Erik beamed. "In fact, I do," he said proudly. He produced a tiny object from his pocket and held it out to her.

She took it from him and inspected it closely. It was a miniature red rose, no larger than her finger. It had been sculpted out of clay, meticulously painted. It had been fashioned with a small loop at the top of it, and a black silk cord was threaded through this loop so that it could be worn as a necklace. It was exquisite.

"Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed. "You made this for me?"

He nodded. "I wanted to make you something small this time so you could keep it." He looked at her expectantly.

She turned the tiny flower over in her hands. "Yes," she said at last. "I will keep this with me always." She passed the cord over her head and took another look at the intricate detail of the red petals and green leaves. "Thank you, Erik. It's beautiful." She impulsively threw her arms around him.

She felt his body tense in her arms. He did not return her embrace, but instead pulled away awkwardly. "You're welcome," he muttered.

"What's the matter," she asked.

"Nothing," he said sharply.

She could see the embarrassment and confusion on his face, and something else that she couldn't quite identify. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Just forget about it," he said, his tone softening. "It's just that I…"

Claire stopped him. "It's all right," she said. She should have known better than to embrace him like that. Every time she had tried to touch his hand or his arm, he shrank from her like a beaten dog. She chided herself for not being more sensitive. She smiled tenderly at him and said, "I really do love the rose, Erik."

He returned a smile. "I'm glad you like it." He turned to retrieve a stack of books from his little boat. Handing them to Claire, he said, "Can you bring me some more?"

Claire chuckled. "Have you already finished all of these already?" she asked in amazement. Soon after Erik's arrival, she had taught the boy to read. He proved to be a very quick learner, and in a short time he was reading whatever books she brought him. He especially loved reading books about engineering and architecture. "I'll see what I can do," she said. "Sophie is starting to wonder why I borrow so many books from the opera library even though she never sees me reading any of them!"

Erik grinned mischievously. "Just tell her that you read them on those long solitary walks that you take," he said. She often told the other girls that she wanted to go for a walk alone when she went to visit Erik, and it was a standing joke between the two of them. "I don't think Sophie will ask you too many questions about flying buttresses!"

"No, she won't," Claire replied. She was grateful that the earlier unpleasantness seemed to be forgotten. She had learned to take Erik's moods in stride. He was often sullen, and sometimes lost his temper, but the dark humor never lasted very long. She hated to leave him in a bad mood, so she was relieved that it had passed quickly.

"I should get going now," she said gently. "I need to get some sleep before tomorrow's matinee." She turned to go.

"Claire?" Erik called out after her.

She turned back to face the boy. "Yes?" she answered. "What is it?"

He gazed at her with a strange expression. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Or perhaps he couldn't find the courage. At last he simply said, "Thank you for the chicken." He climbed into his boat and rowed away.


	7. Girl Talk

"Finally she returns!" Sophie raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly as Claire made her way to her dressing table. "Have you been off on another of your walks?"

Claire set the stack of books she was carrying on the corner of the table. "Yes," she said, sitting down on the worn walnut bench. "I needed to walk off that huge meal," she said wryly. She began to remove her shoes and stockings.

"Fair enough," Sophie chuckled. "We had a good laugh at your expense, I'm afraid." She picked up her hairbrush and began her nightly ritual of one hundred strokes. "What did you think of Andre Giry?"

Claire set aside her shoes and shrugged. "He's all right, I suppose," she said indifferently. Sophie and Michel were enthusiastic matchmakers, and Claire had learned to avoid expressing too much interest in any of Michel's friends. It seemed they were intent on seeing her married off to the first man who would have her, despite her desire to remain single and continue with her ballet career. She had no wish to be a housewife with a brood of brats to look after!

Sophie had very different goals than her friend, and was delighted to have won the heart of one of the orchestra members. Although they had not become officially engaged, it was clear that they would marry in the near future. Yes, she would make a wonderful orchestra wife.

Claire finished undressing and pulled her nightdress over her head. She turned back the down comforter and climbed into her cot. "I suppose you and Michel are already plotting which gentleman you will have me dining with next," she mused, drawing the covers over her shoulders. "Will it be the oboe player with the lazy eye? Or perhaps old Leon, the trombonist?"

Sophie's hairbrush hit the foot of Claire's bed with a thud. "Oh you are insufferable!" she cried. "I only want to see my dear friend as blissfully happy as I am with Michel."

"But I am perfectly happy," Claire objected. "At least I am when I'm not being dragged out to dine with strange men."

Sophie became very serious. "I believe that Giry fancies you, Claire," she confided. "He asked if we might all go out again tomorrow night."

Claire sighed. "Have you already accepted on my behalf?"

Sophie smiled sheepishly and turned down her bedside lamp.

Claire smiled thoughtfully. Giry was a pleasant enough fellow, not too old, not too flashy. And he seemed to appreciate her dancing talent. Perhaps another dinner wouldn't hurt.


End file.
